Under the Skin
by lafiametta
Summary: Hasil Farrell is in mind to get a new tattoo. And he knows just the design he wants. (Hasil Farrell/Sally Ann Lewis)


**A/N: After seeing the preview for Episode 4 where Asa shows Hasil how to spell out Sally-Ann's name (in sugar!), this idea just came to be. It'll probably get totally upended after further episodes, but I couldn't help myself. Hope you enjoy it, all you Sasil-lovers! (Also, feel free check out my blog on Tumblr: I've posted some art for this story as well as a couple aesthetic posts based on Hasil and Sally-Ann.)**

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Hasil Farrell had never given much real thought to the dark blue markings arrayed across his chest and down his arms. Everyone had them. They showed that you were part of the clan, someone who belonged up on the mountain, someone whose loyalties could be counted on.

He had gotten his first one just past his seventeenth winter, after recovering from a case of the flux so bad his ma thought he was not long for this world. He had chosen a pair of buck's antlers, not out of much affinity for the animal, but just because he liked the look of it, the points spread proudly, like it wasn't afraid of a fight. Sometimes it was nice to look down onto his chest and see it there, though most of the time it was kept covered by his shirt.

The ones on his upper arms had come down to him from his grandfa; it was a tradition on the mountain that close kin would try to keep the old knowledge and wisdom alive by having themselves marked the same way as their elders. All Hasil knew was that by the end of his life, his grandfa couldn't remember his own name, much less any understanding of the patterns on his skin. But his ma had asked him to do it, and who was he to say no?

He had something special in mind for this one, though.

In his head, it didn't seem particularly complicated, not after Asa had shown him the basic shapes of the letters involved. But still, he had spent a fair part of the morning drawing it out in the dirt, getting the design just right, and finally carving it all onto a block of wood to have as a model. The best part was that no one but him and Asa knew what the letters stood for, so it would be like a secret he could keep all to himself.

"Jer'myah!" he yelled, stepping up onto the weathered porch.

After a moment, the screen door slapped open, and out walked his ma's sister's husband's second cousin, who also happened to be married to Hasil's first cousin.

"Hasil Farrell," the older man replied, taking halting steps as he walked across the porch. Everybody knew Jer'myah's knees had been acting up lately, with all the recent summer storms. "What can I do for ya, on this lovely afternoon?"

"I need some markin's done. Ya got time?"

"Sure 'nough. Roselynn and I was just finishin' up lunch." He paused, a small, sly grin appearing on his face. "You got somethin' to trade, maybe? Seems only fair."

Hasil sighed. He hadn't really expected to bargain for it. But then he thought about the way her eyes shined when she smiled, the way her name came out of his mouth sounding like a song.

"I got two coonskins dryin' out on my porch. I can bring 'em by later."

"Sounds fine to me," Jer'myah replied, clapping Hasil roughly on the shoulder as he directed him inside the cabin. "Ya thinkin' ya want anythin' in particular?"

Hasil nodded as he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the darkened interior. Twisting around, he pulled the block of wood from the pouch on his belt. "Yeah, I drew it for ya." And then he handed it over, leaving the older man to inspect it.

Jer'myah stopped, holding the design up close to his face. "Can't see in this light," he pronounced. He nodded towards a back hallway, which seemed better lit. "Come on back. Need to get set up with the ink and everythin' anyhow."

Hasil followed him down the hall, pausing only to wave at Roselynn, who was busy scouring dishes in the washbasin. In the back room, there were more windows, along with a chair with a reclining back, useful, Hasil realized, for keeping people flat and still when they got their markings. After following Jer'myah's instructions to remove his shirt and take a seat, Hasil watched as the older man pulled from his shelves several glass jars of ink – the blue so dark it looked black – and a small leather case that held a half-dozen thin silver needles. He could feel his jaw tensing, in the visceral recollection of how much this had hurt, and how long it had seemed to go on for.

All the tools assembled, Jer'myah took Hasil's design in hand again, standing next to the window so he could see it in the full light of the afternoon.

"So this is what ya want, with the two loops? And the lines in the middle?"

"Yup," Hasil replied, not feeling the need to elaborate.

"And ya just came up with this? On your own?"

"I did." Hasil paused, trying not to sound too harsh or defensive. He didn't want to let anyone get any ideas as to what he was doing. "Is there somethin' wrong with it?"

"Nah, nothin'. Just unusual, is all." Jer'myah put the design down on the windowsill and dragged a wooden stool over to Hasil's side. Once situated, he reached over for the ink and a fresh needle. "Let's get started, then…"

It took a couple of hours, by Hasil's count – he had lost track as he tried to think of anything except for the repetitive stinging pain on the left side of his chest – but the sun was lower in the sky and he could catch the aroma of meat being roasted in the communal pit not far from Big Foster's cabin.

"What'd ya think?" Jer'myah asked, wiping some of the ink from his fingers with a clean cloth. "That's what ya wanted, right?"

Hasil looked down, just to the side of the antlers. Even upside down he could read it, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster within his ribcage. Jer'myah had taken a few liberties, added a flourish or two in the edging, but there it was. Two soft swoops, one towards the right and one towards the left, meeting in the center to form a curved line that sounded exactly like it looked, a hush you offered to frightened children or to animals, filled with sweetness and affection. And inside that was something else: two lines, not quite parallel, but meeting at a point, a shape like the top of a tree, making the sound that echoed off the mountain in winter, as the winds whistled through the pines. The two letters lay atop each other, the central curve of the first creating the conjoining bar of the second, forming a design that was as simple as it was beautiful. It was absolutely perfect.

And he hoped – gods, he hoped – that one day she would see it, read it, and she would understand. She would finally know what he had written on his heart.


End file.
